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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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Skull Rock - Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, reader is same age as Eddie. Drug use, unprotected PIV, oral giving/receiving (M, F), biting, semi-public (in the middle of the woods where no one can hear you scream), pining, fluff, language in excess, hot weather; reader is only described by clothing. Let me know if anything else needs to be tagged. :)

A/N: I have so many other wips I'm working on but the Eddie brainrot is too strong. I hope y'all like this! And I extra hope I did ok keeping him in character. ⊙﹏⊙; first time writing for him or any stranger things character! Gif is not mine. Nor is Eddie. Alas.

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"Slow down, Jesus H Christ on a six speed bike!"

"How 'bout you keep up?"

"How 'bout you eat me, Munson?"

"Don't tempt me, princess—"

"Eddie!"

"What? You said it!"

Both voices and bodies were on the verge of being breathless as you and Eddie Munson raced each other to Skull Rock. Eddie's was, as it often was, emphatic and teasing. You were, as you often were as well, indignant and cranky in the most casual way. Eddie beat you up the last stretch of the unmarked trail, chains jingling victoriously. He shot up two devils horns, sticking his tongue out a la Gene Simmons in lieu of a victory cry.

You wasted no time collapsing against the giant boulder that gave the spot its nickname, with its vaguely humanoid eye socket-like craters. The stone was the coolest thing you'd felt in a while as your bare arms pressed against the rough surface. Sinking to the ground, you shut your eyes and tried to catch your breath, feeling your heart in your throat.

"You ready?"

"Give me a minute, Eds, fuck," you cursed, coming out more like a whimpered moan as you wiped the sweat from your brow and hiked the back of your sweat-covered tank top higher up on your back, letting the cool stone touch your burning skin.

Your eyes were still shut. You didn't see the way Eddie was tracing every detail of you with his eyes, from the flushed sweaty sheen on your skin to the less-than-subtle fact you'd not worn a bra that day. The chill of the rock made your whole body shiver and your nipples stand at attention. He gnawed at his lower lip, chuckling a little at your low stamina.

The Hawkins summer heat had about done you both in. That's what led you to hide in the woods near the lake where it was cooler than it was in town. You slid to the ground, coming to a final rest, breathing still ragged.

Eddie drank you in there in your little high waisted denim cutoff shorts and red and white pinstriped knit spaghetti strap tank top, white tube socks and tawny hiking boots. He could look at you forever, but between your relaxed pose sprawled out with one of your knees up and your lips parted to better catch your breath, it was unwise to attempt, lest certain...issues arise.

He reached into the backpack he carried with him (you were a bit miffed that he carried the extra weight and still beat you up the hill, but that's a Metalhead for you) and extracted a frozen bottle of water, now heavily condensated and partly melted.

"Replenish yourself," he insisted, wasting no time in pressing the icy wet bottle into the crook of your neck.

Your eyes popped open so wide and so fast he thought they'd pop right out, and he wanted to laugh at that, but found himself too distracted by the pleasurable shriek that tore out of your throat. He didn't have time to question it; you snatched the cold bottle, broke the seal, and began to gulp down the icy water. It was so cold and so refreshing. You poured a bit of it on the back of your neck and your whole body shuddered again. You returned it to Eddie then, who managed to get what was left of the melted liquid before returning the bottle to the backpack.

"Feel better?" He asked, casual in tone despite the way his heart raced against his will.

You nodded and looked at him through your eyelashes, wiping sweat off your forehead. You'd gotten goosebumps. Eddie slunk down beside you, digging through his black lunchbox. He extracted a perfectly rolled joint and a bic lighter.

"Light 'er up, Ed," you nodded.

"Hell yeah," he concurred, placing the thing between his lips and flicking the little white lighter until there was a nice red cherry burning at the end of the joint.

He took a heavy drag off of it and held it in as he handed it to you, who then did the same. The rotation continued with you coughing hard every other hit. Eddie never judged your 'pussy lungs' as you called them. He was the type to pat your back if you were losing your shit and try to calm you down, make sure you had a drink, that kind of thing. He may look intimidating but he really was a sweetie wrapped up in denim and chains. The two of you sat and smoked the whole thing down to a butt. He put it out and saved the roach for later, leaning back against the rock.

The pair of you had moved under the Skull, into the shade once the evening sun crept through the canopy of the trees. You'd had the sense to pack a little picnic blanket that came in handy separating yourselves from the dirty forest floor. The black and blue quilt was rather small albeit lightweight, so now you were sat beside him, practically on him, arm to arm, thigh to thigh, practically one being, high as hell and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Now he laid back with his eyes shut. Unbeknownst to him, you were eyeing him in appreciation whilst he was indisposed. The sprawling, gorgeous form of Eddie Munson. Gentle pale face, sparkling ever wandering brown eyes shut peacefully in a half doze, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks. He was dressed the same way he always was; dark jeans, that hand-customized denim Dio jacket, the Hellfire Club shirts, all those rings. Hair dark and voluminous and unruly as always. He was just so pretty. You'd been his friend for years, one of few who stuck around aside from the band. Truth be told, you'd always felt something deeper for Eddie, though you could never place a finger on how—

"What you checking me out for?"

Your whole body tensed and heated up when you realized his eyes had opened and found yours already on him. You blushed hard and stuttered for a moment aimlessly.

"I, uh...making sure you're...okay and all...yeah."

"Yeah?" A cocky grin.

"...Yeah."

You were sky high, but you wish you could pass the stratosphere and land on another planet. You suddenly wanted to crawl out of your skin for some reason. Your hands sat on your thighs, palms down, relaxed. Your eyes drifted shut in the following silence. You felt yourself relax, slowly. Until his pinky found yours, and wheedled underneath, entwining with your digit. Shy. Nervous. Easy. You didn't pull away, but gave a tentative, microscopic squeeze. Nothing was said, but everything was, until you couldn't keep quiet.

"Eds?"

"Yes, milady?"

"Do you like me?"

He tensee up. You felt it.

"Why, do you like me?"

He played with his hair, hiding his face partly behind his long teased locks, blinking long eyelashes at you, those big brown eyes twinkling.

"I'm here aren't I? Of course," you faltered, trying to be casual.

"You know what I mean. And I know what you mean, princess."

He sighed and your heart crashed into your stomach. Instantly you braced yourself for the inbound rejection, even as his fingers swallowed your hand now, clasping with his own, the slight cold feeling of his rings soothing on burning flesh. He squeezed tightly and scooted around to face you better, but you couldn't look at him.

"Hey, hey," he spoke gently, "look at me, sunshine. Hey."

You finally chanced a glance back at his face. He was more serious than you've ever seen him. Those brown eyes darted between yours, holding your gaze captive, and he was nibbling on his lower lip at the corner, a microscopic stimulation you knew as his pre-performance jitter tell. All eyes on you though, no crowd in sight.

"Can I be honest?" He asked softly.

"I would hate you if you weren't," you mumbled.

Here it comes.

He gnawed at his soft pink lip a little harder. Your breath caught in your throat.

"I've liked you since the first day I met you," he finally started. "I've liked you since you were the only one in school that didn't treat me like a disease. I've liked you since you asked me to lend you my Black Sabbath tape, even if you didn't like it..."

The emphasis he placed on the word 'liked' every time he said it had you flinching. You weren't sure if he got what you were intending after all. At least he wasn't weirded out by you, but…

"—But," he cut himself off. You realized he'd gotten a little closer when you lost focus. You could smell his cheap cologne. "I never really realized how much..."

"How much?" You repeated, blinking rapidly, starting to feel unsure whether you were being let down easy or not. Eddie swallowed hard.

"...I never realized just how much I want to kiss you. I never realized until...well, today, I think. You've been too good to me, for so long. And I promise you, I would ruin you."

"Maybe I want to be ruined," you blurted out breathlessly before you could think. He blinked at you, eyes wide in surprise. A wide grin spread across Eddie's face, and he twirled his hair between his fingers with his free hand for a second, letting the heat in his face come and pass.

"Is that so?" His voice was teasing now.

"Just kiss me, Eddie," you fussed. His demeanor changed again. He was vulnerable.

"As you wish," he practically whispered, and the last bit of space left between the two of you was gone.

It started soft. His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted like weed and the ice cream you two had eaten before heading out on this excursion. Sweet, earthy. A little minty from the mint chocolate chip. And he didn't pressure you. There was almost an air of innocence in the way his lips molded to yours, the way his free hand came to your cheek, his calloused thumb caressing the tender flesh of your face. His movements were gentle, experienced; a soft rhythm played out until you had to breathe. As you pulled away, he sucked your lower lip between his, and with the lightest possible pressure he dragged it between his teeth as you separated. Something in your gut flipped, moreso than the butterflies eating you alive from the inside. This was different. You felt tense in your core. You felt hot. You immediately missed his touch.

"Eds?" You barely squeaked.

"Yeah, babe? Can I call you babe now?"

You grinned and nodded.

"Can you do that again though?"

"Kiss you? Hell yeah—"

"I mean the...last thing. That you did. With your teeth."

"You like that, princess?" His eyebrows disappeared into his bangs, grin becoming cocky.

You nodded rapidly.

"I would do anything to please my queen," he spoke in his theatrical Dungeon Master voice, not as loud or flamboyant as usual, but the passion was there. As he leaned down he got soft again though, eyes holding yours again in that hypnotic way. "If I go too far, tell me to stop, okay? No hard feelings, I'll understand. Just...tell me. Okay?"

You nodded again. "I will. I trust you, Eds."

He bit his lip and looked almost a little...pained? No. The same sense of urgency that was blooming inside your core was making him feverish as well. You'd been his closest confidant for a long time. For a while he just loved your company: how smart you are, how kind to others, how down to earth you stayed, how you stuck up for the lost and the unloved, whether that meant saving a raccoon hit by a car and nursing it back to health or punching Patty Reagan in the teeth for cornering Eddie with her posse of cheerleaders harassing him within like, the first week of freshman year. You broke her nose and looking back, Eddie was pretty sure that was the moment he fell for you. That was six years ago. You'd graduated. He stuck around, but you stayed close to him even after school ended for you; you never judged him. That's when he knew for sure. And now, under Skull Rock, here by your side, all that love gave way to the carnal instinct buried in nearly all human beings. He would never admit to you how he'd dreamed about touching you under your clothes and woke up in cold sweats with the fresh mental image of you cumming around his hard cock, having to immediately take care of the resulting very painful morning erection. He might admit to you the dreams he has about holding you close in a place you share together, falling asleep to you and waking up to you. Looking at you now though, he felt a twang in a very private place and knew if he started with you, he would never be able to stop. Not after one time, not after a million. Not till death. Or undeath. That would be metal as fuck.

He leaned down and kissed you the same way, slow at first and gentle, hand cupping your cheek, his other letting go of your fingers to cup your other cheek. This time, though, he slid his tongue across your lower lip. Almost involuntarily, an instinct, you opened for him, and he tasted you. Caramel vanilla fudge sundae and Northern Lights. Fucking gorgeous. His tongue tangled with yours and though you had been kissed before, it was never like this, and it never made your stomach twirl and flip like this either. You had to lock your knees for a moment to calm yourself, hoping he didn't notice. His teeth found your lower lip again, and you leaned into him, hands climbing the front of his sweat-and-water-soaked Hellfire shirt, one getting tangled in his hair at the back of his head. He slipped his fingers behind the base of your skull and kissed you harder. You felt dizzy. Once you separated for air again, a string of saliva kept you united until it broke. Your lips were swollen and so were his. In the time you were joined at the lips, he'd come to hover over you, one knee between your thighs. You had no self defense against your body now. But you became very aware you weren't the only one.

"Eds," you cooed again softly, staring into the deep chocolate pools of his eyes that came to stare back just as intensely, "you're poking me."

His face reddened until it matched the demon on his shirt as he looked down and found himself, yes, rock hard against your leg. Skinny jeans didn't tent well, but there was certainly a bulge, and you were no fool.

"S-sorry," he stammered, trying to back away; his knee rubbed against the heat of your core through your shorts and you sucked in your lower lip. It was now or never. Or at least, you really wanted him now.

"Who said you had to be sorry?" You blurted out once more.

His eyes went wide and he stared at you. Regret didn't hit you immediately, but it circled you like a hungry jungle cat. You may as well get in the hole you dug just now regardless of whether the claws sink in.

"I'm not as much of a saint as you might think, Eddie Munson," you spoke with a slight pout.

He grinned and laughed. Your heart panged with indignance, but the bit of shame made your legs want to come together again. Eddie calmed himself and stroked your cheek again lovingly.

"I know, I know, princess. Are you...sure though?" He became a little more grave, letting you see the gravity of the question.

As jovial as he was outwardly, his heart was pounding, making a great escape attempt from behind his ribcage. This was his greatest fantasy, was it really about to come true, here and now, with you? Could be be so lucky? Could be be so, dare he say it, blessed? You were an angel, after all. His fallen angel.

You played with the hem of his t-shirt, your knees finally jerking to lock together to stave off the growing heat in your core. Instead you squeezed the hell out of his thigh. He swallowed hard and wondered if you knew the effect you had on him. Maybe this was a cruel joke.

"I'm as sure as I've ever been, Eds. If it makes you feel any better, I'm in just as, uh... rough shape," you tittered awkwardly, feeling more shame at your admittance. It was an addictive sort of sheepishness.

He glanced down, staring at the patch in your shorts that seemed a little darker than the rest of the denim. He wondered if you'd skipped your bra and panties that day, but only briefly; he would have a heart attack if he thought too hard about what was between your legs at that moment. He was.

"Are we being totally honest right now?" He asked, avoiding your gaze, trying to keep his head from spinning.

"Of course, milord," you teased, brushing your hair out of your eyes to look up at him expectantly.

Well, Munson, you tell her now or you die trying.

"When I said all that stuff earlier about not knowing I wanted to kiss you till we were about to? It was kind of a crock of shit. I've known for a long while."

Your heart did flips. He was so cute even now in this state of semi-aroused delirium.

"That so?"

"Honest truth. I, uh...just didn't wanna come across as...desperate."

"Desperate?"

"For this. Taking you to Skull Rock, knowing the rep it has. Smoking you out. This wasn't part of the plan but fuck, I am thanking every deity I can think of that this is how it's going. I don't know how much longer I could lay beside you in those shorts and not say anything. Or do anything. I just didn't want you to think after all these years I'm just trying to…I don't know, just fuck you."

You didn't know how to feel. Excited, obviously, but so touched, so surprised that all this time he's felt this way…like you haven't. It was a weight off you to know he felt the same. Oh. Relief. That's the word you're looking for.

"I'd never think that Eddie. You're not that kind of guy," you soothed, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. "But, just out of curiosity... what would you do to me, Eds?" You took his hand and placed it high on your thigh. His fingertips dug into the bare flesh, soft and hot, and he gulped again.

"Fuck," he groaned, "I'll show you if you want."

You grinned at him. There was one thing left to say, and you only hoped it would affect him the way you thought.

"Obey your master," you shrugged, casual, simple.

He groaned a guttural groan and sunk his lips to yours again, hard, his other hand finding the small of your waist, climbing up, under the fabric of your tank top, onto the soft globe of your breast. You whimpered into the kiss as he toyed with your lip with his teeth again, and your hips involuntarily ground against his leg.

"Fuck, baby," he growled against your mouth, "you wanted this a while too, huh?"

"Dreamt about it," you nodded, peppering him with open mouthed kisses, "wanted you for a long time Eddie."

"Really?" All the energy ceased for a moment and he pulled back to search your eyes with a genuine curiosity, "How long?"

"A very long time. S'why I left Peter before graduation. Felt bad thinking about you when I couldn't sleep. Felt worse about thinking of you when I was, um…with him."

That was the hottest thing you could have said to Eddie. He imagined you in the backseat of Peter Oliver's dad's station wagon, thinking only of Eddie as someone else tried to make you feel the way you knew Eddie could.

"That so?" He kissed you again, brief but passionate, "why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Didn't want to know if you didn't feel the same. Better to just...imagine and be happy with what could be, I guess."

"That why you always dress like this around me? See if what could be, would be? Hm?" He pinched your ass, the bottoms of your cheeks exposed by the minimal covering of your shorts. You flinched in the best way.

"Maybe. S'also just comfy when it's hot like this..." You mumbled.

"Mhmm," he hummed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking and licking until he found the spot that made you squirm, and attached himself there, still teasing your nipple and massaging your tit.

"You can still change your mind," he informed you between kisses, softly, though you were moaning underneath him at his every touch.

"Can. Won't. You can too though," you panted, already struggling for words, but desperate to be sure he was comfortable.

"Girl of my dreams writhing beneath me in the throes of carnal sin? Yeah, right," he teased, and then his hand found the button and zipper of your shorts. He made quick work of them, and his body reacted hard to the confirmation you had no panties on.

"Eds," you gasped as his calloused fingers wormed into the front of your shorts. The tip of his index finger dipped into the slick hot wetness between your thighs and he gasped.

"Fuckin' wet for me," he growled, "so wet, baby."

"Mm," you nodded, unable to elaborate.

It had been so long since anyone touched you like this. You didn't date after Peter. Everyone including Eddie assumed the bastard broke your heart and you were still healing, but knowing the truth felt like the end of a mystery. No one could hold up to the way you loved Eddie. Knowing that was better than any prior victory to him. Knowing he was the one you wanted.

He began to toy with your clit, using your slick to lubricate the pleasure button as he played with it. You squirmed at every touch. His fingers were so talented. You knew that already, but experiencing it was something else entirely. His other hand left your tit to tug your lower garments down, and regrettably his right hand left your crotch to do the same. It took a little team effort to peel the fabric over your ass, but before you knew it, you were clad in only your tank top, socks and boots. For a moment Eddie just sat on his haunches before you and appreciated the sight splayed out for him now. He, seemingly without noticing himself, palmed his erection over his jeans, wincing.

"Fuck, princess, you look so good like this," he groaned, dipping down and forward to kiss you again.

His hands traveled your body in a torturous, slow manner. There wasn't much chill to his rings now but the sensation of smooth metal in contrast to rough fingers and the itchy material of the blanket beneath you, all you could focus on was that touch. That and the way he looked at you, like you were divine. You felt divine. His soft lips trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw, down your neck, and with great pleasure he captured your right nipple in his mouth and began to suck and tease and roll it between his teeth, grinding his hips against the ground between your legs. Fuck, all he wants is you.

His right hand slid between your legs again. He teased your entrance a bit more with those long, thick fingers, but before you could beg him to fuck you with them, he dropped to the ground and spread you out with his thumbs, exposing your pussy fully to him. You were glistening with sweat and slick, and with a deep breath in for air, he descended. You held your breath unwittingly but the moment his hot tongue found your clit in a broad flat hard press, the hood of it also tugged up by a well-intentioned middle finger, and started licking in stiff little motions, it all escaped you. You could only see his eyes, and that was a chancy thing, given his fringe. Those big brown eyes snapped up and met your gaze from his positioning and you swore you would have melted right then and there if you weren't so desperate for more.

"Eddie, baby," you whimpered, arching your back to try and give him a better angle.

He groaned against your cunt, eyes rolling back with sheer delight as your thighs tightened around his skull. He forced your knees wide open again after relishing that sensation for a moment or two.

"Keep 'em spread for me like a good girl. That's it, princess," he praised you with kisses to your inner thighs, just beyond the realm of your pleasure. You got a wicked idea.

"Yes, master," you cooed, spreading your knees a little further, pulling them up a little closer to your chest; this had the exact intended effects. He growled against you, and the vibrations against your clit made your head spin. You moaned and tangled your fingers in his long curly locks.

"Keep talking like that and I won't get to fuck you before I cum," he confessed.

"I aim to please," you grunted; this was the wrong choice. One finger teased at your entrance briefly before sliding in with ease as he continued his oral onslaught. Fuck, he's good. "Eds!"

He looked up at you again from his spot between your legs and gave a mischievous wink. You whimpered as the second finger went in. One was easy, two was just on the right side of manageable. You clenched around his fingers.

"Fuck!" He cried, feeling the pulsation of your walls, imagining how good it would feel around his aching cock, straining now against his jeans, neglected. That didn't matter. This was about you. His patterns were hard to keep up with, but every change was a new wave of sinful ecstasy, every caress of his tongue against your clit, every time his fingers curled up and fondled that especially sensitive spot inside you over and over again until you cried out for him again, until you couldn't think straight, until...

"I'm gonna lose it Eds," you whimpered, high and needy, legs trying to snap shut, but you fought with all your might as you felt that growing heat, that tension in your gut, grow stronger by the moment; Eddie's fingers came to a crescendo in rhythm.

"Fuckin' cum for me, princess, cum for master. Fuck!"

You could tell the pet name electrified him, given the way he thrusted into the ground again at its use. A stream of curses and praise fell from your lips, some gibberish, some coherent, all with the same encouraging inclination he's doing his job right, until finally, the cord in you snapped, and you had to brace your hands against Skull Rock behind you to ground yourself in your astonishing climax. He kept thrusting his fingers into you and lapping at your poor cunt until the throbbing stopped. He came to a slow and then a halt, and with only a little regret, his huge fingers slipped out of you. He sat up, smacking your knee in a "good job champ" gesture, wiping the ridiculous amount of your slickness off his face.

"You look so good covered in my cum," you blurted for a third time now, and his eyebrows raised again, for not the last time.

"That so, princess? Maybe we'll have to make it a routine," he grinned that shit-eating Eddie Munson grin that made your heart flutter every time you saw it, and then he began to stand; you grabbed his hand.

"Your turn," you informed him; he looked at you, puzzled.

"Baby, it's okay, that was fuckin' amazing, you did so good, you don't have to worry about me," he told you softly, stroking your hand with his pruned fingers.

You stared hungrily at the tent in his jeans.

"I don't have to, but I want to," you told him, lust creeping through your tone. You licked your lips slow and with purpose. "I wanna know how you taste, Eddie Munson."

He couldn't unbuckle his belt fast enough. You dragged him back down with you, rolling over so he took your place on the blanket with his back against the rock. It was hot to the touch from where you'd been there just moments ago. Your nimble fingers made quick work of his button and zipper, and by fuck, once he was freed from the confines of the denim pants, even in his underwear he stuck straight up, hard and proud. You stroked his shaft through the fabric of his boxers and he had to bite his lip hard.

"Ooh, god, baby," he groaned.

"Excited already?" You tutted at him and stroked him again, enjoying the way he reddened so fast.

It had been a while for you, sure, but the preps in high school called you a slut for only one reason: though Peter was your only lover in the timeframe of those four years, it somehow circulated through the whole basketball team (and thus to all the cheerleaders they banged) that you, innocent you, gave the best head in Hawkins High, maybe in all of Indiana. But rumors were what they were. Eddie couldn't get them out of his head as your eyes flickered up to meet his; you bent your head and kissed the head of his dick over his boxers. He could have wept holy tears. When you finally pulled the fabric off him, his cock sprung up and pressed against his stomach he was so hard. He had the beginnings of abs, too, you noticed them for the first time up close as you pushed his shirt up over his stomach. Eddie was right. He's going to ruin you. But not if you ruin him first.

"Baby," Eddie rumbled, "you look so beautiful."

It was that sweet praise that made you put aside your nerves and gently grasp the base of him. You pressed your tongue flat to his slit and took one long, very purposeful, torturous, delicious lick, from the back of your tongue to the tip of it, shaping it into a hard point as it passed over him. His fingers buried in your hair already.

"Fuck," he growled. There was almost regret there in not telling you sooner.

He stared at you in sheer awe and lust as your tongue swirled around his head again, and finally, tucking your teeth under your lips, you took him wholly in your mouth and began sucking. You relished the taste of him. A little sweaty and musky and ever so slightly bitter from the taste of his precum, you found yourself enjoying it. Maybe that's why you gave such good head: you genuinely enjoyed it. The feeling of making your partner happy, or even just the feeling of a hard cock ramming the back of your throat…you took as much of him in as you could (Eddie is a lot bigger, longer, thicker than you'd expected), pushing yourself until you felt him hit the back of your throat. He groaned loud and low as he felt your tongue stick out on the underside of his shaft, nearly touching his balls. You rescinded then and did it again at a slow pace.

"Doing so good, baby, I didn't know you had a mouth like that, fuck," Eddie praised through hard grit teeth; he couldn't take his eyes off of you, and thought he could have died when yours snapped up to meet his.

Your hand and mouth found a sort of synchronization, a rhythm to unfurl him with, and he'd occasionally thrust against you, trying not to hurt you but becoming more aware that you can take it. You hummed as you took him in, letting him relish the vibration of your throat around his cock. You hollowed your cheeks when you could, but he was a lot to take in. You gagged very rarely, but the tears were starting, just from the physical reaction to his dick using your uvula as a punching bag. He watched every move and kept thinking about the way your pussy almost broke his fingers when you came. Well, maybe not, but he certainly felt the pressure. Your mouth was a fucking treat but he wanted to know what it felt like to fuck you, truly, to bury himself balls-deep inside you, make you scream for him. You carried on sucking him off though, a free hand coming up from under to gently fondle his balls, and when he felt that all too familiar buildup inside them, inside his core, he pulled your hair, and you took the signal to cease and desist. As you sat back, a long trail of saliva mixed with precum kept you connected to his twitching cock, until you wiped the drool off your lips and chin. You licked your lips slowly and he couldn't stop himself from kissing you. It was a weird sensation to taste himself on you, but it was kinky. You could still taste your own juices on him too, and felt quite the same.

"You're way too fucking good at that, princess," Eddie groaned, panting hard, holding you by the ass cheeks.

"Then why'd you make me stop?" You pouted; he gnawed at his lip again. You seemed irritated. "I wanted to make you cum too."

He glanced down your body and wondered if he had any condoms on him. Normally he kept one in his wallet, but you'd told him they get ruined that way, so he got rid of it. Fuck.

"I just…fuck, I really want to feel you, babe," his hands trailed up your back and pulled you closer to him. Both of you were naked from the waist down now and his hard cock was throbbing against your belly, "but I don't have any protection."

You stared at him and bit your lip. Now that he'd mentioned it, you would quite like to be fucked into the dirt by him.

"I've been on the pill since Peter," you told him, "if you're good, uh…I'm good."

He stared at you with wide eyes, putting two and two together, until finally it clicked.

"You saying what I think you're saying, princess?"

You grabbed his cock and stroked it, longing for it, desperate.

"Take me, master."

In an instant you were on your back on that blanket again. Eddie propped your head up with the backpack, mostly emptied of contents though it was, it was some sort of cushion. Eddie had only fucked with condoms. So had you. But in high school you just fell into the habit of taking those little round pills every day about 3pm. You'd kept up with it swimmingly.

Eddie sat back on his haunches before you, staring down at you, drinking you in.

"I mean it. Fuck, you look so gorgeous. I almost feel like I'm defiling a work of art," he stroked his cock as he spoke, lazily but with a purpose.

Your knees opened and rose near your chest, exposing yourself to Eddie. Sucking his cock got you all sorts of wet again, and you ran a few fingers across your own pussy, testing the waters, more or less.

"Master takes what he likes," you continued into the bit, and he sunk to his knees before you.

"I don't deserve you," he almost whimpered.

"You do. And I deserve you." You rebutted, looking him firm in the eye, burning with lust, but also something more.

He nodded once and braced himself at your entrance, teasing the throbbing head of his cock against your wet cunt, shivers going down his spine just from feeling it, really feeling it.

"You're sure?" He asked, one last time, even as you tried to buck your hips and arch your back to get him inside you.

You nodded, worrying your lower lip.

"That's not enough, princess. I need to hear it. Tell me," his voice was gentle, easy, as he stroked your thigh with his thumb.

"Please, I'm sure, Eddie, please fuck me," you begged, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from sheer want. You've never wanted anything more in your life.

He needed no more encouragement and began to inch into you, slowly at first, to let you adjust. But holy fuck, it took every iota of willpower he had not to ravage you. Nothing felt as good as this. Nothing felt so fucking raw and pure as genuinely feeling the soft wet walls of your pussy wrapping around his hard cock, exposed, natural in most every sense. You mewled, so wet it was almost more difficult not to slide into you all at once. But you were tight and warm and fucking incredible.

"How's it feel, baby?" Eddie purred, watching your every expression, every move, for any sign of discomfort.

"Like heaven," you whimpered, arching your back, "you don't have to be easy with me, Eds. I won't break."

"Oh, don't tell me that, princess," he replied, sounding concerned at first until you figured out the game when he slammed inside you, bottoming out. You felt him against your fucking cervix he was so big, "a guy like me could really do some damage to a pretty pussy like yours."

Your eyes shut tight in sheer ecstasy. Electricity shot through you, starting from your cunt, tingling all the way through your body as he slowly dragged himself almost fully back out.

"Ruin me, Eddie," you cried, clawing at his stomach with short nails, still leaving tracks, "fuck me out. Make me yours."

"Make me yours, what?" He emphasized, licking his thumb and bringing it to your swollen clit in a hard and unforgiving press.

"Master!" You gasped out, bucking against his touch.

He slammed into you again, this time in a rhythm that you hoped would never end. He worried he was losing control, pounding into you the way he was. He hooked one of your legs around his shoulder, and bit into your flesh to keep from screaming out. You felt so fucking good. He was getting pussy drunk, and the sweet little whines and cries you made were just too much. So he bit you. You shrieked and his other hand clamped over your mouth.

"We are still outside, princess," he reminded you; you'd almost forgotten in the excitement where you were.

He let go of your mouth and braced himself against the rock, relishing every sensation he felt in that moment as you did; he felt you squeeze his cock, felt you writhe underneath him, listened to you whimper and the dirty sounds of his balls slapping your ass, along with the distant sounds of birds chirping. Even the smell in the air was intoxicating. Fresh air tinged with the musk of sex. Eddie had to bite you again to keep from yelling out. You didn't seem to mind. In fact, the little slight bit of pain added to the sensations, grounded you. He continued to toy with your clit in a steady and reliable circular motion.

"You look so good like this," he praised, "all drunk on my cock, taking it like it's your life purpose. Fuck baby, you're gonna make me cum."

You nodded desperately, biting against your own hand now, trying to keep quiet. You wanted to scream for him, but the risk of getting caught by someone, no matter how slim a chance, was enough to keep you quiet as you could manage. You squeezed him hard with the walls of your pussy and he growled at you.

"'M close too, Eds," you whimpered, and he began to rub your clit a little faster at this information; it was true, you felt that white hot buildup returning, that incredible high you chased on your own for the last couple of years, the one Eddie could pull from you in minutes, it seemed. You writhed underneath him and he bit your leg a third time, harder than before, still groaning lowly against your flesh.

"Where you want it, princess?" He grunted, hips beginning to stutter.

"Don't stop! Don't stop! Eddie, please!" You cried out, a little louder than you meant to, but Eddie couldn't deny you, and kept pounding your pretty pussy until he felt you convulsing the way his fingers did earlier.

Your walls tightened around him, involuntarily, a pulsing like your cunt was trying to swallow him whole, so tight and wet and hot he was willing to let you. But he couldn't stop himself, either, and when you came, it felt too good; he emptied his balls into you, deep as he could thrust, running on carnal instinct. He was gasping for air, hair a mess all around him like a dark halo, and you couldn't tear your eyes off him, slicked with sweat, gorgeous. You were a sight too, underneath him, panting hard, shirt ridden up to expose your stomach and nearly your tits. He stayed buried in you for a minute, cock still twitching, hard.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, reaching down to brush your hair off your face; you were covered in sweat yourself so it was a bit of a battle.

You glowed, he could swear it, the way you smiled at him, all in a fucked out daze. He pushed his hips forward a little and you whimpered once more as he slid slowly out of you. You felt a warm wet heat pool out of you, down into your ass cheeks. Eddie stared as the combination of his cum and your slick seemed to pour out of you. God there was so much.

"You look so pretty dripping with cum, baby," he praised; he took his boxers and began to clean you up, the slow swipe between your legs to collect your juices almost painful from overstimulation. He leaned down and kissed you, gentle as the first time.

"I thought I always look pretty," you joked softly, absolutely spent.

"You do, fair point," he chuckled warmly, sinking down to lie beside you on the ruined blanket, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You reached into the backpack you were resting on and extracted his cigarettes without being asked.

"Marry me," he uttered as you handed them to him with his lighter.

"Keep this up and I just might, Munson." You teased, placing a kiss on his lips before he could insert a cigarette. You kissed his jaw as you pulled away, and his chest after that.

He looked at you as he lit the end and took a heavy drag, and found you staring right back, absolutely smitten.

"I think I love you," you whispered.

"Oh, princess," he sighed, exhaling smoke through his nose, "I know I love you. Have for a while. Now there's no takebacks."

The two of you laughed together. The sun had gone down by the time the pair of you made it back to where you'd parked. It was almost midnight by the time you actually got back to Eddie's trailer, and it was late afternoon when you finally departed for your own home, in love and beyond exhausted, but happy.

#my writing #ns//fw #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #this was fun to write i love eddie a normal amount #i havent been this feral for a character since stiles stilinski

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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I am alive and writing Eddie Munson smut

#i have so many wips but this eddie one is gold i think #hoooboy ive got it bad for him #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #inbound

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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AWOOOOÓ AAAAAAAAA

the only c*p I'd willingly get involved with, officer 'take my cock like a champ' friendly 🫠🫠🫠

Most Wanted List (Officer Friendly x Reader) [18+]

A/N: Oh hello! I am currently working on the next chapter of “Bustin’ Makes Me Feel Good” but for now, please enjoy this oneshot fic I did with Officer Friendly. There are so many simps for him (myself included) and it’s about damn time we got some fanfic. So, if you also fantasize about being manhandled by Officer Friendly, then enjoy! RBs, likes and comments are very much appreciated!

warnings: smut, minors dni, unprotected sex (y'all do better irl pls), daddy kink, “sir” kink, authority kink, praise kink (if you squint), degradation, spanking, pet names (kitten), orgasm denial, dubcon (sorta, but the reader knew what she was getting into by “skateboarding around the law”), kinda dark!Officer Friendly?, general roughness

word count: 2,054

“Fuck.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d be caught, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You loved playing this game of cat and mouse too much, and you definitely couldn’t go without the sly and dominating gaze of Officer Friendly. He would always discipline you after the third or fourth misdemeanor you committed, and he would mix it up so you’d never know if you’d get caught that time. This time, though, you’d decided to make another town brick wall your personal canvas, and Officer Friendly had picked you up, cuffed you, and shoved you into the backseat.

Keep reading

#others' writing #localsimpmigraine #officer friendly #ns//fw

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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HOT DIDDLY DAMN 👀👀👀👀

Blind that mf with SCIENCE

And ✨PUSSY✨

Bustin’ Makes Me Feel Good (Egon Spengler x Reader) [18+]

A/N: Hello again! Sorry this one took me longer to write than usual! The experiment this time is stamina! It took me so long to write bc…the experiment is long lol. I hope this makes up for not putting any writing out for the last two weeks! I hope you guys enjoy this labor of love! Comments, suggestions, and reblogs are very much appreciated. MUAH! Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 warnings: smut, minors dni, sex experiments, multiple orgasms, vibrator use, stamina, fluff at the end, dirty talk, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v sex, squirting word count: 5,252

Chapter 3: Stamina

Keep reading

#others' writing #localsimpmigraine #ns//fw #ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader smut #REPEATING FOR THE COMMENTS:#👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀#i am Melted #i am Thriving #i am Alive #I WANT EGON #AAAAAAAAAA

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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sorry for disappearing for a while; I've been in a slump again already and all my brain can poot out is moon knight x reader cliche romance story drabble 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 I am simply Obsessed with the Moon Boys I am Lost to them, They Own My Ass

That being said I will be off the next two days and I'm hoping to work on some of the Great prompts y'all have sent to my askbox 🥰 Ive kinda been hoarding them there for easy access when I can get to them. 👀

#twinkie talks #about my writing #pete x reader coming soon #egon x reader coming soon #may also post that moon knight x reader too if i finish it #i cant help myself i wanna smooch steven grant

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

Note

Okay okay hear me out…Ray x AFAB!reader. Idk if you have any experience with a/b/o dynamics in fics but I just had the most adorable thought. Alpha!Ray Stantz x Omega!AFAB!reader where he says “I’ll take care of you.” I’m MELTING at the thought. I just thought you’d be amazing for a fluffy/smutty one shot like that!! Ily and your writing, keep up the amazing work💙

Sincerely, 💊 anon

I've actually never written ABO before! 🫠 I love the idea, but my only experience with alpha/beta/Omega type anything is MTV Teen Wolf lmao 🥹 do you mean it in that sense where everybody is werewolves or is it like a kind of kink lifestyle? One way or another I might be able to deliver something a little sweet and a little spicy~ I just wanna get it right. 💌

And thank you so much!!! 🥰💜💚✨

#i dig this idea #ask twinkie #smooches for anon #sorry i am simply an egg #💌

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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Bustin’ Makes Me Feel Good (Egon Spengler x Reader) [18+]

A/N: Heyo! I’m back again, feeling extra motivated to give y'all some content (mainly cause I’ve been reading this week and it’s helped me so much to be less afraid of sharing my writing!!). SO. Here’s chapter two! I wasn’t entirely sure what to call this, so I just used “Self Stimulation” to cover it broadly. I hope you guys enjoy it, and please don’t hesitate to comment and suggest other experiments Egon and reader can do! I’ll do my best to get around to them! RBs and likes are so very much appreciated! Read Chapter 1 warnings: smut, minors dni, sex experiments, toys, vibrators, voyeurism, squirting, praise, fluff at the end word count: 3,507

Chapter 2: Self Stimulation

Keep reading

#HOOOOOOOOOOO BOI #ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon x reader #OP UR DOING FABULOUS 🫠#im already ready for chapter 3

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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CO-WRITTEN WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way.

Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations, bondage/restraints, cunnilingus (face sitting), safe sex; unsafe relationship choices.

Word Count: 9.2k (ahahahah please don't look at me)

[Tag List and Masterlist]

The warning signs were written all over him like a marquee outside a theatre, lit up in gold and bright flashing red neon.

On the first date you were supposed to have, he stood you up, only to call you four days later on a Wednesday night. Closer to midnight than dinnertime, oblivious and confused and asking where you were with a slight panic in his voice.

“Date’s tonight, yeah? Saturday at seven?”

Un-fucking-believable.

That was the first red flag. The point at which you should have done the sensible thing and told him to piss off and lose your number.

He’d clearly lost the plot, and you’ve never been the forgiving type. You have a tendency to nurse your grudges like little houseplants by your windowsill, feeding them with pettiness that always simmers in your chest aplenty.

But there’s something about Steven. Something you can’t quite put your finger on that won’t let you leave well enough alone. The friend who was with you when you’d approached him and asked for his number, had laughed and rolled their eyes.

“Of course, you’d be into him, he looks like the saddest stray dog at the shelter. The one nobody wants.”

Which is true you suppose. But he’s also charming in a geeky, unconventional sort of way. Surprisingly handsome, even if it’s hidden underneath dishevelled hair better suited to a mad scientist and sleep-deprived black circles under his eyes. He’s got the sort of beautifully defined jaw that belongs on a marble sculpture and gorgeous brown eyes that you want to drown in.

Besides, dating prospects in London can be grim. Even with this colossal fuck up, Steven was still the preferable option when compared with Ben on Tinder, whose profile photo showed him in a tux with his (hopefully ex-)wife standing next to him in a wedding gown. Or unsolicited dick pic numbers 1-3 and 5-12 (you were saving the possibility of number 4 for a rainy day). Or another dreary night home alone in your tiny flat.

So despite your better judgement, you take the tube to Leicester Square, slipping down the crowded alleys of Chinatown and into a tucked away dim sum diner with dimly lit walls washed in cracked red paint.

He’s waiting for you at a cramped table in the corner, still looking like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. Hair unkempt and frazzled, much like the man himself. His entire body is bowed and hunching in on itself like he’s afraid of taking up too much space—the whole of him one big apology for even existing. He’s nothing much to look at, not until he looks up and sees you, and then his whole face lights up with amazed delight.

There’s something about his hopeful, nervous smile that tells you this isn’t a ploy or misguided attempt at negging. Not some weird power game to show you that he’s just not that into you. Something about those big round puppy-dog eyes, filled with awe and gratitude for your presence, tells an entirely different story: he’s the one who thought he was being stood up tonight. For whatever reason, this man genuinely seems to believe it’s Saturday.

Those eyes are the reason you don’t bother to act indignant or inform him tartly that today is not Saturday. Instead, you let it go with a polite smile as you sit down across from him.

High cheekbones flushed pink, he seems discombobulated that you’re actually here, reduced to a cluster of wrecked nerves and completely unable to hold down a conversation. And God, it would be cute if it weren’t so fucking awkward. You fiddle with your cheap wristwatch, pulling at the band until it comes loose the way it always does just so you have an excuse to put it back together. The silence between you echoes so loudly that you can practically hear the seconds tik-toking away.

“How’s work at the gift shop?” you ask finally, straining to keep the pleasant smile on your face.

“Not too bad.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but his fragile nerves are etched on every line of his face, and instead his mouth clamps down tight.

Three words. Apparently you get three words only. Then it’s back to silence, and you want to bang your head against the surface of the table. Maybe you should have gone with Ben from Tinder after all?

God, you just need to find a topic of conversation. Any topic. You can’t do this deafening awkward silence anymore.

So you open your mouth and wind up nattering on about the banal details of your day: the delay on the tube that almost made you late; your coworker’s birthday celebration; your failed eBay auction attempts for a particular edition of The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain.

“It was a limited release, sold out at every book store in town, seems like.” It’s a topic that you regret embarking on as soon as you open your mouth. Still, you keep prattling on, sure that you must be boring him to death, because you don’t know what else to talk to him about.

Miraculously, he shows no signs of boredom. Instead, he follows along, taking in your every word with rapt attention. He even manages to stutter out a question or two. Intelligent ones, at that. And he actually seems to care about your responses. You can’t remember the last time any man had listened to you so attentively. It’s flattering and leaves you feeling flustered and flushed.

By the time the date ends an hour later, you’re feeling marginally warmer towards him, though he’s barely managed two dozen words of his own.

It’s absolutely pouring when you exit the diner, and you realise with dismay that you’d not thought to bring an umbrella.

“I’ll walk you to the tube, yeah?” he offers, popping open his own umbrella, and holding it out for you to step under. Carefully keeping it slanted your way when he joins you a moment later.

You're both quiet on the walk, but the silence feels less awkward than it had in the restaurant, a bit friendlier. He’s still nervous and ill at ease and watches you surreptitiously the whole time, his eyes darting furtively in your direction when he thinks you aren’t looking.

It’s not until you reach your station that he finally speaks.

“Can I see you again?”

You hesitate, thinking of the miserable hour you spent sitting in the diner alone on Saturday—the real Saturday. Of the awkwardness tonight. The way you were there together for over an hour, but you still know next to nothing about him.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, but your eyes are drawn to the soaked patch on the right shoulder and arm of his jacket where the coverage of the umbrella missed him entirely. Your own coat is dry, not a drop of water on you.

For the life of you, you can’t explain why you say yes, but you do.

You make plans to meet up again the next weekend, and this time, he actually makes it to the restaurant venue at the proper date and time. You spot him from outside when you arrive. He’s wearing an outdated, ill-fitting suit, and you watch through the front window as he fiddles nervously with his tie.

When he sees you, he lights up just the way he did on the first date. Pure unbridled excitement, as if he can’t believe you actually showed.

This time, when you ask about the museum, he proceeds to word-vomit an encyclopaedia’s worth of knowledge about ancient Egyptian history. His passion and zeal for the subject are incapable of being contained until it spreads and lights up the entire restaurant with it. And even though the extent of your interest and knowledge of ancient Egyptian history had started and ended with watching Brendan Fraser in the Mummy, you find yourself captivated by the conversation.

Once he relaxes a bit, you find him to be disarmingly sweet and harmless, things the men in your past have not been. It’s why you find yourself letting down your guard, and despite the poor first impression, you genuinely enjoy yourself as you work your way through an otherwise unimpressive meal.

It’s also why you end up saying yes to a third date.

He beats you to the appointed location again, and when you show up, there’s a black shopping bag in his lap. He holds it out to you as an offering when you approach the table, watching you like an eager puppy waiting for approval as you unwrap the content. At the sight of the gold-gilded purple hardcover, the limited edition of ‘The Prince and the Pauper’, your stomach flutters, and it’s like being a child at Christmas all over again.

“How on earth did you get a hold of this? It’s sold out everywhere.”

“There was a store in Peterborough that still had one,” he answers, sounding quietly chuffed with himself.

“Steven, that's hours by train. Did you go all the way up there just for this?”

“Nono— I was passing by for a work thing.”

It’s a transparent lie.

You almost ask him why on earth a gift shop vendor for a museum would need to go all the way to Peterborough for work, but you don’t.

“I’m just really happy I gathered up the courage to ask you on a date that first time,” he confesses with an open-mouthed smile, his joy so contagious that it almost makes you miss what he said.

Then you stop and consider it, and your smile turns wooden.

Because that’s not right.

He didn’t ask you out. You were the one who approached him and initiated things.

That’s the second red flag. But you ignore it despite every dating rule in the book that has been ingrained into your skull since you were a little girl.

Instead, your mind turns to Peterborough and what a miserable journey that must have been on National Rail. You can’t help but google it. Two hours on crowded trains, at least half an hour walk to get to the bookstore, plus the return journey.

Who goes to such lengths for a throwaway comment on a first date? You only mentioned it to begin with as a way to fill the unbearable awkward silence.

The gesture is so sweet it warms you from inside out, making your cheeks tingle with heat, even against the February cold.

Later, with the benefit of hindsight, it will be easy to see the idiocy of your actions. But as you sit here now in front of this sweet, eager man, it’s simpler to turn a blind eye to the things that don’t quite add up. What’s that thing your friend always says?

When you’re looking at someone through rose-tinted glasses, all the red flags are just going to look like flags.

After that, it’s lunch dates at the Great Court under the Museum rooftop and breakfast at Cafe Babka before work almost every day of the week. Steven dates you like he is trying to court you, flowers and chocolates and wide adoring eyes.

It’s not a perfect relationship by any means. Steven has quirks. And not just the, oh he’s cute and clumsy and says awkward things when he’s nervous sort of quirks. Sometimes he misses dates without warning. Sometimes, like that first time, he’ll be gone for days. When he returns, he’ll act like he’s just seen you the day before, cocking his head like a confused puppy when you try to ask where he’s been.

On one occasion he disappears for weeks. No contact save for a few brusque texts that sound uncharacteristically professional and put together. Your calls go unanswered. That is until they don’t, and then he’s back. Your sweet Steven with the same shy smile, tired eyes and non-explanation as ever, apparently oblivious to the missing window of time.

It’s nothing serious between you—not to the point that he owes you an account of his time. And yet… If you’re entirely honest with yourself, it bothers you. Of course it does. Because you care, despite the fact that you shouldn’t.

The inconsistencies (red flags) continue to mount: The two of you always meet outside. He never invites you to his place, and he never stays the night at yours. The excuse is insomnia. Always the same line about how he doesn’t want to keep you up and rob you of a good night's sleep murmured on his way out the door. He’s good at deflecting and prevaricating. It’s not until you ask to meet at his, that he refuses point-blank.

“No!”

He says it with his whole chest. Bitten off like a curse, leaving no room for discussion. It’s so forceful and unlike him that it shocks you.

It hits you all at once like a painful blow. A man who can’t be reached for days at a time. Never introduces you to any of his friends. Won’t let you visit his home. It’s a fucking bouquet of red flags if you’ve ever seen one.

The realisation rolls in hard and fast, punching the air out of your lungs.

“Oh, God. You’re married.”

Of course he is. Probably has a family that he’s hiding from you too. You’re his weekend fun. Meanwhile, he has kids and a dog waiting for him at home. It all makes so much sense now. Every little oddity. All the things that didn’t add up. The disappearances. The gaslighting. The Wednesday that was supposedly Saturday.

Red-hot anger rises to your cheeks, and your ears burn as it claws at the walls of your throat. Fucking hell, you can’t believe you didn’t see it until now.

“No! What? No,” he insists, his hands scrambling to grab hold of yours. “I’m not married!!”

In front of you, those charcoal pupils blow wider than you’ve ever seen them, black eating into the dark brown ring with his panic. But you’re not moved by it this time.

“Don’t give me that crap, Steven. Why else do you never stay the night at mine? Why have you never invited me to yours? Why else would you disappear for days and pretend you don’t remember anything?”

“Sorry, sorry. I can see that I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. But I’m not married, alright? You can come over. It’s fine. You can come over to my place.”

Crossing your arms, you lean back in your seat, trying your hardest to ignore the onlookers at the cafe whose interest you have peaked with your lovers’ quarrel.

“When?” you ask.

“I don’t know. Tomorrow? No, no. Saturday!”

Like hell you’re going to give him the opportunity to choose a day when the wife and kids are conveniently out of town so he can sneak you in like a dirty mistress.

“Now,” you insist.

“Now? As in today?”

“What’s wrong with today?”

“I need to clean first.”

You’re not doing this.

“Goodbye, Steven.” You rise from your seat, but his hand shoots out, grabbing hold of yours to stop you before you’ve even so much as taken a step.

“Today,” he relents.

“Now.”

He nods, shoulders slumping in defeat as his eyes flicker away from your scathing glare. “Now,” he promises.

“Just a sec.”

The moment his front door is unlocked, Steven shimmies through the opening, blocking your view, then runs forward into the flat. It’s suspicious, to say the least.

He’s running zig-zag through the flat, moving as fast as you’ve ever seen him. Knocking over everything in his path and causing a loud commotion left and right as he shovels armfuls of books, boxes of crumpled up tape and old maps out of sight. It takes you a few seconds before you realise what he is doing. He’s tidying.

Steven wasn’t lying. Not about this at least. Despite what you thought was damning evidence, there is no wife. No kids. Hell, the only pet he has is a sad-looking goldfish with one fin that he’s named Gus (when the much more apt name, Nemo is available).

Also, he definitely did need to clean the place up.

You can understand why he was self-conscious. Now that you see it, you almost feel bad for imposing on him. Almost.

Without waiting for an invitation, you walk into the middle of the flat, looking around.

While the place is a dump, it’s also ridiculously spacious, tucked up under the eaves, with lots of windows and a wide open floor plan. You could probably fit three of your flat in here. And it’s located by Temple, smack in the centre of London. You've clearly chosen the wrong career. Museum gift shops must be where the money's at if Steven can afford a place like this.

The noise around you has ceased, and you realise that Steven has stopped moving. You can feel his gaze following you in the room, eyes darting nervously as he pretends not to be observing your every reaction to his home, looking for approval.

“Sorry for the mess. I don’t get many guests.” He offers the apology meekly, then resumes tidying as you walk around the flat.

There are books everywhere, not just on the bookshelves. They’re on the desk and on the table and on the floor. Dusty hardcovers and paperbacks are crammed into every nook and corner of the flat, stacked in piles and piles on top of each other.

Occupied as you are in taking in the… eccentric decor aesthetic of your surroundings—the oversized fishtank in the middle of the flat; the maps, pictures, and copious notes tacked onto cork boards; the hieroglyphics hanging all over the walls—you fail to watch your step. Your boot connects with something solid, and you stumble, nearly losing your footing. The thing goes skittering off with the sound of metal scraping against the wooden flooring.

Bending down, you peek under the edge of the bed. It takes you a moment to figure out what you're seeing, then a wash of heat prickles in your cheeks. You’re not sure what you were expecting to find, but it sure as hell wasn’t... this.

There’s a padded cuff under his bed. Your eyes follow the long cable that connects it to one of the wooden beams nearby.

It’s always the quiet ones.

Restraints by the bed in a dilapidated attic flat that looks like it is straight out of The Silence of the Lambs is a bright red flag flashing in screaming neon. Yet, there’s no trepidation. No spike of fear. It’s like you have no survival skills to speak of. Instead, you’re more amused than anything else. Intrigued, even. So this is what he was trying to hide: a messy home and a sex kink. You can work with that. In light of the possible alternatives, you’re almost relieved.

“Steven,” you call out, holding out the incriminating restraints for him to see.

His eyes flicker downwards, then widen in alarm. The moment he spots what you’re holding, blood rushes to his cheeks, colour flooding his face until that pale pallor on his cheekbones turns dark crimson.

“It– It’s not what you think.” He’s mortified, and it’s adorable.

“No?” Your lips quirk into a smile. You never can help but tease when he makes it so easy. “You don’t want to tie me up, Steven?”

"What? I mean, no! I mean– Those are for me.”

You quirk an inquisitive eyebrow. “For... you?”

And uhm… Wow. You had not expected that. Though, well, maybe you should have. With his timidness and nervous disposition, you’re not surprised to discover he prefers for someone else to be in control.

“I– Sorry. Not that I– I mean– " He’s stuttering, wringing his hands, completely at loss for how to dig himself out of this latest accidental confession, and there must be something wrong with you, because you find him incredibly appealing like this.

His high cheekbones are flushed a deep red, eyes impossibly large as he bites down on his full bottom lip.

The sadist in you thinks he looks gorgeous.

You walk towards him, and with every step of your advance, he retreats backwards, step by step, inching ever closer to the unmade bed behind him.

“Show me.”

He’s so taken by your request, he seems to have completely lost awareness of his surroundings. Despite this being his flat, he startles when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, awkwardly fumbling his way into a sitting position on the edge of bed.

Still standing, you slot yourself between his thighs. Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t help his attempts to form a coherent sentence at all.

“Show you? Sorry, I don’t—”

You grip his chin between your fingers, interrupting him mid-sentence, and tilt him up to meet your eyes. This close up, you marvel at how ridiculously sharp his jaw truly is, the edge of it so honed you bet it could cut through steak.

“Yes. Show me. Show me how it’s for you. Show me how you use it on yourself.”

He swallows convulsively, Adam's apple bobbing, unable to control the nervous physical reaction to you. But then he nods obediently, and takes the cuff from your hands. He stares down at it for a moment before inhaling deeply, as if to gather his courage, then leans down, and you take a step back to watch him fasten it on.

Fitting the leather around his ankle, he threads the end of it through the buckle, pulling until it’s a tight fit then inserting the prong through the hole to secure it. There’s no fumbling. No shaky hands, even as you stare at him with rapt attention. He does it all with the practised ease of a man who does this routinely.

It has your stomach tied in excited knots to see him in his element for once.

As if by habit, he gives the cable tethering his foot to the wooden beam a firm tug. It rattles against the wood, sending a spike of excitement up your spine, simmering along every nerve ending until it’s enough to make your fingers twitch. You become keenly aware of how your neck prickles with heat.

Then he stops and straightens up, looking up at you expectantly as if to signal the end of the show.

“Where’s the rest of the set?” you ask. When his brows draw together in confusion, you clarify, “For your wrists and the other leg?”

“Uhm, it’s just the one… Sorry.”

Oh for God’s sake. Who on earth only has one ankle restraint to be tied up for sex? It’s truly a ‘one sandwich short of a picnic’ deal going on here, isn’t it? Adorable as he is, you can never make heads or tails of Steven.

You shake your head with a sigh, trying to gather your wits. It’s the intention that counts, you suppose.

You step in close again, and Steven draws in a sharp breath when your leg makes contact with the inside of his thigh.

Maybe you don’t even need to tie down the rest of him to get him excited.

You nudge your thigh forward where it brushes against his, a slow press, testing the waters, and you’re rewarded with his immediate rapt attention. His eyes dart between his legs, gaze fixed on your encroaching knee; his hands hover uselessly in the air around you, not quite daring to touch; and his chest heaves as you continue your slow advance, not stopping until your thigh meets the visible bulge that is starting to strain against the denim.

His mouth parts, the pressure eliciting a sharp gasp, and he stares up at you with wide, dark eyes. Your whole back tingles with excitement. Fuck, he’s pretty.

You let your bag drop to the ground with a muffled thump, wanting your hands free to touch without impediment.

Steven jumps at the sound. He looks from you to your bag on the ground and back again, then shudders and slumps forward like he’s unable to keep himself upright. He presses his face into your stomach, and the warmth of his breath seeps into the fabric of your jumper. It seems to spread from there, stretching down your thighs to the curl of your toes.

It has you wrapping your fingers around the thick column of his neck to turn his face up to yours. You’re not at all prepared for the sight of him, eyes rolling back and those gorgeous long lashes fluttering. His pulse jumps excitedly against your fingers as if it’s trying to meet your touch. It ratchets up another notch when your hands come to his collar and you pop the top button open, easing the tight constraint against that long, graceful throat.

Then you work open the rest of the buttons, dragging down his oversized shirt. You barely have time to admire his naked form, before you stumble across a much more worrying revelation. Black-blue bruises marring his smooth golden skin in large patches across his shoulder. There are barely healed cuts, running parallel down his chest. You trace the lines with your fingers with a frown, and Steven turns his gaze downward, shame-faced.

“How on earth did you get these?”

“I—I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“I have a sleeping disorder. It’s what the restraints are for.”

And that’s another red flag, isn’t it? Practically waving right in front of your nose. But… You let your eyes roam over Steven’s chest. There are other things that you want to focus on right now. Things like the friendlier revelation of just how in-shape Steven is.

He never seemed like the type to go to the gym, more like the type to get winded running after the bus. Your first (apparently incorrect) impression was that a gust of wind could probably knock him off his feet.

But his form tells a different story. Running your hand over the well-developed muscles of his shoulder and down his toned bicep, you find that he’s much bulkier than you had expected, given how small he holds himself to be. Underneath the unsightly button-down, Steven is cut like a marble statue, all firm muscles and smooth flesh. Always full of surprises, this one.

Dipping knee-first onto the mattress, you move to straddle him, one knee on each side of his hips. When you settle your weight onto Steven’s lap, his pink tongue darts out nervously, wetting his lush bottom lip until it glistens with saliva. The sight sends a thrill up your spine.

Flattening your hand against his solid chest, you apply firm pressure, and Steven lets himself be guided by you easily enough, as if he truly believes your strength is a match to his. Allowing you to push him backwards until his back is flat against the mattress.

“Is this–?” Steven starts nervously, “Sorry, are you sure that you–?” His voice cuts off when you lace your fingers with his and show him just how sure you are.

You drag your interlocked hands down your sternum and further to slip up under the hem of your skirt. You watch his face as you press his hand against you, letting him feel how wet you are for him, soaked even through the double layer of your underwear and tights.

He groans when his fingertips find the proof of your arousal, and he stares up at you, awestruck, dark eyes wide and dazed, almost disbelieving.

“Oh. You're...? Oh, fuck.” Then he’s pulling his hand away from yours, scrambling to get it under the waistband of your tights.

You gasp at the feeling of his fingers wiggling into your knickers, and your body jolts forward with a shock of pleasure as they slide down over your clit. Moving down to press deeper, those thick fingers tease at your slick, sensitive entrance, and you can hear how wet you are.

Steven must hear it too, because he groans again, a desperate needy sound. His touch trails back up and over your clit again before withdrawing entirely, and you moan at the loss. You expect him to try to pull your tights off, maybe go for the zip of your skirt, but he doesn’t.

What is he...? Oh.

You watch slack-jawed and burning with arousal as he shoves his slick fingers into his mouth, tongue and throat and jaw working clumsily as he sucks them clean. Moaning with something like desperation as he swallows you down like a starving man.

“Sorry, sorry. Had to taste you,” he slurs out around his fingers. The words are distorted and hard to understand, and it should be ridiculous, but instead, it’s just hot. “Can I–” “Yes,” you answer, not even waiting for him to finish the question, and his eyes light up the same way they always do when he first sees you, like he can't quite believe you're real. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, leaving you staring at the way his lips are pinker than before, shiny with a mix of his saliva and your slick.

“Can I– can you just—” He doesn’t finish the request, but his hands move to your hip and thigh, tugging gently, urging you to scoot up his body.

You nod and start to shift yourself to help him, but his hands wrap around you, fingers digging in, then you’re moving.

He drags you forward with surprising strength, your tight-covered knees scraping against the bedding. As he pulls you up his torso, you realise you’re still wearing your boots. “Wait, my shoes!” “S’fine.” Steven doesn’t even pause, dragging you the rest of the way up to straddle his chest. Then his hands move to the underside of your thighs, and you yelp as he lifts you up. You're nearly toppling forward before you brace yourself with a hand on his shoulder, but Steven doesn’t waver, holding you steady, supporting you without apparent effort until he can settle you with your bum on his chest, your knees framing his head.

You stare down at him, more than a little affected by that impressive display of strength, but Steven isn’t even looking at you. Instead his eyes are heavy-lidded, a blissful expression on his face as he turns to the side, craning his neck until his lips can press a kiss onto your inner thigh.

When you don’t pull away, he mouths at you through the material of your tights, biting down and gently worrying the sensitive flesh between his teeth until you’re sure it will leave a mark. You hope it does.

He pauses, then. Unlatches his teeth, and just stays there for a moment. His fast, panting breaths are warm against your thigh, but cold where they ghost over the wet spot he’s left on your tights. The contrast makes you shiver. His hand skates slowly up the back of your thigh, hesitant, like he expects you to scold or stop him. When you don’t, he curls his arm around your leg, pressing it greedily to his mouth so he can leave an identical mark right next to the first one. The action is hungry but somehow still reverent, almost worshipful. The only descriptor that comes to mind is touch-starved.

For a moment you wonder how long it’s been for him, this man who seems to have no family or friends to speak of, alone in a city of nine million inhabitants, and how lonely he must be, lost in the clustered sea of anonymity. Because he touches you like you’re the first sign of life on an abandoned planet and wants to reassure himself you’re real. Devoted fingers fan over your ribs, palming over every inch of skin he can reach, kneading and grasping.

You don’t get a chance to revel in the thought, before he drags his nose upwards against the ticklish inside of your thighs, tongue trailing a wet streak across your tights as he goes. You claw your skirt up around your waist and out the way so you can keep watching him, and you can’t help the blissful sigh that parts your lips when he gets to his destination.

He noses at the damp crotch of your tights, but it’s not enough to actually give you any friction. You can hear him suck a long breath in, his chest rising under you with the extended inhale, and then the warmth of his breath gusts over you as he releases it. He does it again, another deep inhale, and a wash of heat rolls through you at the realisation that he’s smelling you. That’s… that’s just…

You spear your fingers into that messy hair, and drag his head forward, pressing yourself against him. You groan at the contact, and he groans with you, mouthing at you desperately.

“Can you– Can these come off?” he says into you, the words barely intelligible between biting kisses and half-licks. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you forward, helping you to ride his face. “Oh, fuck. Can I taste you without these? Please?”

“Rip them,” you say without conscious thought, and he does.

He leans back marginally, chin tilting down at a sharp angle to see what he’s doing, and his hands sneak up under your thighs to grip the fabric of your tights on either side of the crotch, fingers digging in, pulling until the material gives way with barely a whisper of sound. His fingers fumble at you again, and there’s a moment of unexpected pressure. Your knickers dig into your hip almost painfully before there’s a much louder rip, and you realise he’s torn them too. You have half a second to be glad they weren’t your best pair, then his mouth is on you.

You expect him to be tentative, the way he is in so many other parts of life, clumsy even. Instead, Steven is all enthusiasm and hunger. There’s nothing shy about the way he works you open with his mouth.

It starts with a long slick drag of the flat of his tongue down the seam of your cunt. Leaning back slightly, you brace a hand on his firm chest and roll your hips forward into his waiting mouth. He meets your invitation with a groan that makes his whole chest shudder underneath you, lapping at you with a fervour that you would never have expected from him.

A slow, sweet ache unfurls from between your thighs, spreading and twining steadily outward, until the pleasant warmth climbs its way up your chest, and you smile down at him indulgently. He’s greedy for you, shifting underneath you and dragging his mouth against your cunt, his hungry moan muffled into your thighs. The bump of his nose nudges against your clit, and white-hot pleasure streaks down your limbs as his tongue curls, licking into you.

The familiar rasp of a zipper fills the room. It’s followed by a slick wet sound attracting your attention that makes you turn your head, twisting awkwardly to look over your own shoulder. And fuck, are you glad that you did. His fingers are wrapped around the girth of his cock, slowly stroking himself up and down, slick and shiny with copious precome dripping down his painfully-erect-looking cock.

"Touching yourself, Steven?"

His hand abruptly stops, whole body freezing in alarm at being caught. He drags his mouth just far enough to resurface with an apologetic murmur. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm—" it’s slurred and drunk, a thickness caught in his throat from your slick.

“Don’t be sorry.” With the way his mouth is working you, he has nothing to apologise for, and you press your hips down flush against his face, shutting him up quite handily. “You look so fucking good like this, keep touching yourself, fuck, keep going. You’re doing so good,” you encourage as your fingers brush away the errant locks that stick to his forehead with perspiration.

The deep groan rumbling from his chest is nothing short of grateful as he grabs a firm hold of you with his free hand. There’s nothing tentative about his touch anymore. His fingers dig into the plump flesh of your hips with a surprising force, holding you down against his mouth, forcing you to grind down on his tongue much harder than you would have on your own out of fear of hurting him.

The strength of his hold is entirely unyielding. It’s depraved with how you’re grinding down on his mouth. Debauched in how he lets you fuck yourself on his tongue. It has you bucking and writhing, the pleasure of it so overwhelming that you lose orientation.

You need to anchor yourself because fuck, your legs are burning from the exertion, giving under and you’re not sure you can keep yourself upright. Your hands grip the nearest surface, clamping down against the wooden shelf above the bed hard enough that your knuckles ache.

And oh crap, you should not have done that.

The books start to slump sideways, collapsing against one another like dominoes. Dazed as you are by the pleasure of his mouth on you, it doesn’t occur to you to try and catch them until a whole mess of books and papers and other clutter tumbles down, spilling across the corner of the bed and onto the floor.

“Fuck! Steven, your books!” You belatedly lurch forward, but you don’t get far. Steven groans into you, a feral snarl of sound, and his arms curl tight around your thighs, locking you in place.

Yeah, okay, the books can wait.

You thread your fingers into his hair, gripping the heated, sweat-damped curls until you’re sure that it must hurt. But the only response you get is an enthusiastic groan, as his mouth moves more eagerly than before.

And God, it’s good. Heat spreads down your trembling thighs, shivering under your skin. The sweet ache of it builds with each press of Steven’s tongue until it feels almost too big for your body. There’s nowhere else for it to go, and for a moment you are almost worried that you are going to burst open with it— And God, you’re nearly there— almost, just a little bit more.

Steven must be able to feel it because he makes a muffled noise of satisfaction against your cunt. His fingers dig into your thighs even harder, his nose sliding against your clit as he holds you flush to his mouth, and that’s all it takes to shove you over the edge.

You come hard, grinding down harshly against Steven’s face as waves of fierce pleasure ripple through you, searing and endless. He doesn’t protest, just holds you even more solidly against his hungry mouth.

His tongue slows but doesn’t still. A soft, lazy drag, working you through it as he fastens his mouth around you, swallowing like he can’t bear to let a single drop of your slick go to waste. And... and... fuckohfuck—he’s not stopping.

Your first orgasm doesn’t even have the chance to fade away before he is somehow, unbelievably, building you up to a second. The piercing sharp pleasure rides on the fine line of too much. He is mouthing and licking every inch that his tongue can reach, even as you’re trembling and convulsing on top of him, not sure if you want to get away or press yourself closer to the overwhelming touch.

You can’t make sense of the space around you, everything narrowing inwards, until the concept of sound and colours no longer make sense to you, your vision blurring. It is all heat and sparks that steals your breath with it. Every muscle in you locks tight, the tension streaking out along your limbs to the curl of your toes until you are sure you are going to snap from it—

And then you do.

You come with a hoarse shout, eyes slamming shut from overstimulation as your world crumbles around you and everything fades into nothingness until your mind is blank with it.

It’s all a blur and you barely register the lazy, soft licks of Steven’s tongue as he’s drawing out your pleasure. Barely able to catch oxygen into your lungs, before you realise he’s still going. And oh fuck, he can’t be serious— “Stop, Steven stop—wait! too much—”

You lurch up, trying to get away, even the gentle touch of his tongue suddenly too much. Grabbing his locks tightly, you use one hand to try to pry him away from you, slapping your other hand down hard against the muscled arm that’s keeping you pressed against his face.

That, finally, is enough to make Steven loosen his hold, and he lets himself be pulled away from you as you raise yourself on trembling thighs, barely managing to scoot yourself back to sit back on his chest.

For a moment you worry that you are resting your weight on him and how uncomfortable it must be for him, but there’s not a trace of discomfort in his features. His face is one of bliss. A sweat-soaked curl falls across his forehead and it makes him impossibly beautiful. Your eyes meet, but his are glazed and distant, entirely lost and still on a different planet.

You move down his body, until your chest is pressed up against his and the drum of his heartbeat is pounding against your skin. You’re sated and exhausted, and grinning from ear to ear as you press your lips against his. He tastes of you, sweet and tart on his tongue as you kiss him, and he kisses back, moaning desperately into your mouth.

He’s still hard. His straining erection pressing against your stomach with nowhere to go. Hot and aching, as it jerks against you, slick and dripping from the precome leaking from him. Fuck, you want him inside of you.

“Get my bag,” you instruct him breathlessly, still coming down from your high, and he looks at you but makes no sign of moving out from under you. “I have condoms in my handbag,” you clarify. “Get one.”

That seems to do the trick, snapping him out of his trance. Within a fraction of a second his eyes have refocused and he’s scrambling towards the end of the bed to grab your bag from where you had haphazardly dropped it. There’s a moment of silent hesitation, then the rattling of keys and lipsticks being pushed to the side as he searches frantically for his prize.

While he’s busy with that, you take the opportunity to finally undress. Two orgasms in and you haven’t so much as removed your boots. Unbelievable. You make quick work of them along with the rest of your clothes, dragging off the tattered remains of your stockings and knickers just as Steven makes a small triumphant noise.

You hear the rip of the metal foil, and press your knees together at the ache between your thighs to stave off your own excitement. But then it’s followed by silence. You crane your head to see what the hold up is. Steven is holding the condom up to the bedside lamp, flipping it over then over again, apparently unable to determine which direction is up. God, you do not have time for this, not when you want him inside you this badly.

Impatience brings out the worst in you. You know you’re being unfair, not even giving him the benefit of a few seconds in this dimly lit space, before you snatch the condom from him.

“Trousers off,” you order, and he scrambles to comply.

Turning your attention to the slippery rubber in your hand, to the sting of your pride, you’re struggling with it much in the same way that Steven had. It’s too dark in this bloody room, and you can’t see if you’re holding it up or down. It’s truly a humbling moment when you find yourself scooting closer to the nightlight and holding it up for a brighter view until you finally make sense of the thing.

Next to you, Steven is struggling with his one single item of clothing. It’s clumsy to say the least, not helped by the trousers being tangled by the ankle restraint no matter how much he tugs at it. Until he finally gives up and turns back around to stand in front of you and wow— beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Hidden underneath mismatched clothes, and an inability to comb his hair, it was always obvious he was a looker. It’s the moment of reveal in a rom-com where the girl loses her glasses and the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen graces your screen. Right now, he’s all tousled curls, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. You can’t remember the man with the gangly gait, looking like he’s a kid wearing his father’s oversized clothes. Gone is the pale face that hadn’t touched the sun for years.

You beckon him forward with the curl of your finger and he follows obediently, climbing back into the bed until he’s kneeling in front of you. Your fingers curl around the thick girth of him and it twitches and jerks in your grasp. From the way he stiffens, and stills, you swear that he stops breathing entirely as you easily roll the condom down his length.

Raising your knees, you seat yourself into his lap as you’re aligning him against your slick and aching cunt, until the fat tip is resting inside you.

Then you take your time as you ease down on him, inch by slow, sweet and aching inch as he fills you for the first time. Every nerve ending in you is thrumming with electricity. You can’t remember who was supposed to be in control anymore when you feel him, thick and warm, seated inside you to the root of him.

It’s a struggle to move, every nerve in you alight. He feels so good inside you, incendiary, and you have half a mind to stay just like this.

You start a slow grind of a pace that has him groaning in response to you. Tilting your hips up to drag your slick cunt over the length of him before squeezing down on him again.

Lunging forward, Steven’s mouth latches onto your throat, kissing fervently. Tongue lapping against the salty perspiration, teeth nibbling down your collarbone and downwards until he’s mouthing at your breast, sucking at the pillowy flesh. Touch-starved, you think to yourself again.

You try to raise yourself again to keep the momentum you have started but, God as good as he feels inside you, despite the sweet gorgeous ache of the slide of his cock, your legs are numb. The muscles in your calves are screaming out in exhaustion still wrought from the earlier exertion and the torrent of overwhelming pleasure that you can’t quite seem to climb down from. Not when you can barely find the strength in you to sit upright. And as much as you want to keep riding him, you can’t—

"Fuck, I can't-- God, Steven, help me."

It’s all you need to say before his hands are already moving to grip the underside of your bare thighs. He lifts you up and off his cock before bearing you down on him until you are grinding down on his cock. Again and again. He moves you like it’s an easy feat, and you are reminded once again of his deceptive strength.

It doesn’t take long at all before that too familiar heat is simmering deep in the pit of your stomach. Slow at first but insistent all the same as the aching pleasure spreads and blooms along every fibre and nerve of you.

You can’t hide from it, don’t have the strength to chase after it on your own. All you can do is surrender yourself to it, to the pace that Steven has set for you both as he holds you down and rolls his hips up and into you. The sensations course through you, God it won’t stop— he won’t stop. God, please you don’t want him to stop.

And he doesn’t, he plants one foot on the mattress for leverage, lifting you off of him, making you whine at the loss, before he thrusts into you deep and hard, and God—fuckshit, you’re coming for him again.

This time your climax slams into you all at once. The pleasure of it is blinding, until all you can see are glimmers of white sparks in the darkness as if you are staring up into a vast night sky. The world around you slows to a crawl as the only thought you’re capable of is how the blissful high pushes through every single one of your cells, blanking your consciousness until you lose sense of time itself.

Except, there are soft moans close to your ear that send shivers down your back. A firm grip on your hips that tethers your consciousness to this world. A sturdy weight pressed along your thighs. When you come to you find yourself with your back on the mattress. Steven pressed alongside every inch of you.

You don’t know when he took command like this, controlling the momentum. Or when he flipped you over to your back, until your legs were wrapped around his waist, your body still clenching around him as you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.

He looms above you, supporting himself on his forearms as he stares down at you, sweat-slick curls bouncing across his forehead with the force of his body driving into yours. Strong, deep thrusts, unmeasured and almost wild, as he bucks into you.

You can see that he's getting close by the way his jaw works then goes slack, but his gaze never falters. Even as his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, his eyes, dazed and feverish, never leave your face, taking you in like he’s worried you might disappear if he looks away for even a second.

Steven gasps out your name, then stills, buried deep inside you, and fuck, you can feel him come. You always thought that was just a thing made up by romance novelists who seem to get paid by how ridiculous and unattainable their sex scenes are, but you swear you can actually feel his cock pulsing inside you.

Watching the pleasure break across his face is a revelation. You’ve always known Steven was handsome. Had thought you recognised the depths of his attractiveness seeing him naked and aroused in the low light, but this is something different. This is Steven transcendent. The desperate need and constant pinched nervousness have been washed away by pure pleasure, and you realise that Steven might just be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. You’re still recovering from this revelation when he goes limp, collapsing onto your chest, and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He slurs out a “Sorry, sorry. I hope that was alright, yeah?” and you have to laugh a little to yourself as you shush him, running a soothing hand through his hair, overcome with tenderness because yeah, that’s still your Steven. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

After a long moment, he shifts, reaching between you to hold the base of the condom, and you both gasp as he pulls out. He pauses there, hovering over you, and you grin happily at each other. You feel giddy and lightheaded, your whole body buzzing with endorphins. God. Shy, meek little Steven who could barely manage more than a handful of words on your first date somehow just made you come three times in one night.

He rolls to the side, and you marvel all over again at the solid strength of him. The muscles of his arms flex and stretch under the skin as he knots the condom, tossing it into a bin across the room in an impressive display of skilful accuracy, before flopping over and nuzzling back into your neck.

The cable on the ankle restraint jingles with the movement, bringing it back to your awareness, and you start to reach for it, but Steven makes a noise of protest, hugging you tighter to him.

“The cuff...,” you remind him.

“Keep it on, yeah?” he murmurs, sleep thick and heavy in his voice. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Maybe it’s because you’re spent and exhausted. Maybe it’s because, with Steven, you have permanent blinders on, but you ignore the statement for the red flag it is and let it go. Instead, you curl into his pleasant warmth, tucking in your legs between his firm thighs and fit yourself into his welcoming arms as you let yourself drift to sleep.

When you wake, it's pitch black. There's no light at all, and you can't see anything in the total darkness blanketing the room.

Reaching out your hand, the spot next to you is cold and empty, any residual heat long gone from the sheets. You're alone in the bed.

"Steven?" you whisper.

There's no immediate answer, and your heart thrums painfully in your chest.

You sit up, wrapping the quilt around your naked torso and carefully adjusting it to make sure all the important bits are covered. Perhaps it's silly to worry about your modesty after the events of last night, but the back of your neck prickles uneasily in the silence, and you keep it on regardless.

"Steven?" you call out, louder this time, your voice echoing through the emptiness of the flat.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” comes the response from the dark.

The endearment rings false in your ears. Steven’s never called you that before, and while tonight might be the perfect occasion to extend the list of firsts between you, there’s something not quite right about his voice too. His pronunciation is off somehow— like an imitation of an imitation.

Another red flag, and for the first time since you met Steven, it has alarm bells ringing loud and clear in your brain.

Keeping your face pointed in the direction the voice came from, you reach over to the end table and flick on the nightlight.

The amber hue illuminates his form as he emerges from the shadow into sight. Black curls fall across his forehead as those familiar pitch-dark eyes gaze back at you, framed by the hollowed cheeks you know so well.

But something’s still not right.

You can’t put your finger on it at first, but it comes to you slowly as you keep your eyes locked on him, heart beating in your throat. His stance is different. His whole demeanour is different. Shoulders straight, chest puffed out with confidence and pride like it’s second nature to him. This is no puppy dog, this is a wolf. In the dark empty space of the flat, his presence looms instead of cowers.

As you look up at him, the alarm echoes through your head louder than ever, pounding at your eardrums until you are nauseous with the clang of it. You can clearly see all the red flags you’ve ignored up until now, easily visible where they were dotted along the path that led you to this moment.

The person standing in front of you might carry Steven's face, but this isn't him. This man is a stranger to you. Your Steven has left the room.

Dedication & Credits:

So after seeing the first episode of Moon Knight, I passed out and entered into a horny fugue of a state that I have yet to recover from. I started writing this on Saturday with my most beloved @thirstworldproblemss and just— I'm unwell.

Ok Christ, the dedications for this one is going to be a doozy. Apologies beforehand to those that make it a habit of reading these.

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First and always foremost in my heart and soul (and you can quote me on that no matter what my husband says to the contrary) to @thirstworldproblemss who co-wrote this and made this one of the most fun writing experiences I’ve had in a long long time. There is nothing like hanging out in a google doc together writing with a friend who is like an extension of your own brain— not knowing the scene and then having them go “what about this” and that is exactly what you wanted. There is nothing like waking up in the morning and seeing them staying awake (way past sleepy bussy time) still in the doc, and going to sleep with them still in the google doc. There is nothing like you, and I’m so happy I have you, for everyday the last year (and then some).

To @frannyzooey for her time. You always give so much of yourself to others and you are one of the kindest and bestest people I know. Thank you for being so supportive and keeping me company and talking me through the weirdest and some of the scariest life changes I’ve had in the past few months.

To @jazzelsaur for being such a whore. That’s it, that’s the dedication. WHORE. I love you don’t tell anyone.

To my beautiful comic geek @radiowallet for reassuring me that I wasn't going to fuck it up but also for being one of the sweetest, kindest and best people on earth. Always there with a kind and supporting word, and virtual hugs and being the absolute best person alive, always.

To @songsformonkeys because she was the one who kept whispering like the snake of Eden about how I should be writing Moon Knight fics.

To @the-ginger-hedge-witch for being an absolute rock in listening to me having constant meltdowns about how I’m so horny for this man. But also for being a fucking riot and one of the funniest human beings that has graced this blue planet that we call earth. I will never stop giggling about "yes girl he's married kill him".

To @yespolkadotkitty who after watching the first episode of Moon Knight texted me that “I was thinking CiCi had already written 55 smut fics in her head” and she was RIGHT. But also for her invaluable advice and precious time to make sure I didn’t fuck up the Britishism too much (despite having lived on and off in England for the last oh Idk 14 years of my life (I’m mess what can I say).

#HOLY SHIT DUDE #🥵#fucking good fic #moon knight #steven grant #goddamn i am Toasty under the collar right now #shouldnt have read this on me lunch break #although i am Inspired #op ur fantastic

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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Send an ask with a prompt and a character and I'll see about making magic happen~

&. 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( smut / nsfw implied sentence starters with not so vulgar language. )

❛ i’ve been thinking about you all day. ❜

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

❛ how badly do you want me? ❜

❛ i can’t get enough of you. ❜

❛ i’ve never done something like this before. ❜

❛ i like being close to you. you’re warm. ❜

❛ you look good like this. ❜

❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜

❛ i’m not jealous. ❜

❛ shh. there’s people in the other room. ❜

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜

❛ i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing. ❜

❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜

❛ would you like to go somewhere a little more private? ❜

❛ i’ll take care of you. ❜

❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you. ❜

❛ take off your clothes. ❜

❛ i’m going to ruin you. ❜

❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜

❛ is this okay? ❜

❛ you know you love me. ❜

❛ i want you to feel good. ❜

❛ make me. ❜

❛ i want this. ❜

❛ come back to bed. ❜

❛ you’re such a tease. ❜

❛ want me to model these for you? ❜

❛ we have to make this quick. ❜

❛ what are you looking at? ❜

❛ it’s hot when you talk back. ❜

❛ you don’t have to be gentle. i won’t break. ❜

❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜

❛ i really want to kiss you right now. ❜

❛ this is a one time thing. ❜

❛ you know where to find me. ❜

❛ did i say you could stop? ❜

❛ you’re soaked. let me grab you a towel. ❜

❛ i want to see you. ❜

❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜

❛ no ones here. we can be as loud as we want. ❜

❛ you look good with my hands around your throat. ❜

❛ i’ll be good, i promise. ❜

❛ you’re really good at that. ❜

❛ shut up and kiss me already. ❜

❛ you better watch your fucking mouth. ❜

❛ don’t mind me. just enjoying the view. ❜

❛ tell me what you want. ❜

❛ here’s my hotel room number. ❜

❛ you can be rough. i can take it. ❜

❛ and where do you think you’re going? ❜

❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜

❛ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. ❜

❛ what if i hurt you? ❜

❛ you could never hurt me. ❜

#sentence starters #smut starters #smut prompts #ask memes #my writing #open asks

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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DAMN, THAT WAS A REALLY GOOD FIC!!

why thank you! ;0 💜 much appreciated~ there will be more in the future!

#ask twinkie #i enjoy writing these lads in situations #thinking about doing one for either ray or pete next #may come outta left field and do one for indiana jones or maybe steven grant bc ive been watching moon knight and i love him #anon

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twinkie-buttercream · 2 years

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Psychomagnetheric Passions

[Egon Spengler x F!Reader]

Pairing: Egon Spengler x F!Reader

Rating: M/18+ MDNI!

Summary: another shameless slimefucking fic. you catch Egon running some of the more invasive experiments and...well, we all know how potent charged psychomagnetheric ooze can be, on even the strongest minds.

Mentions: the goo, oral fixation, p in v sex, lots of jizz, eventual fluff, praise, F on top, more fun ;0

Gif isn't mine!

It was mood responsive. That much was clear. The thick pink ooze that Ray and the guys had been experimenting on since going back into business, it seemed to think and feel, and it felt what you felt. You'd seen them yell at it, sing to it, cry to it; Ray even tried to scare it. It didn't work.

They'd microwaved it, froze it, toasted it, baked it, stuck it through a centrifuge, dunked it in multiple solutions and chemicals, boiled it, run it over with a vehicle, everything they could possibly try, it was going to be attempted in the name of science.

You should have known it was going to get out of hand. You didn't expect to wander into the lab late one night to reclaim the book you'd been reading earlier whilst pestering Egon as he studied the slime, and find him still there, hunched over the desk. Something lewd was happening, if the scent of sweat and the slight squelching sounds were any indication, let alone his heavy breathing.

"Dr. Spengler?" You should have known better than to interrupt, but your book was directly beside him on that desk. There was no way to avoid it.

There was a wet popping sound, a glass slamming, and he turned, lab coat suddenly folded over his front. You could see the protrusion from his hips tenting the fabric quite conspicuously. Damn, it really was always the quiet ones. The slime on the table bubbled slightly suddenly.

"Y/N, I didn't...oh shit," he panted, finding no way out, no explanation; not even Venkman could have lied his way out of a scenario like that. "Y/N. Hello."

"Sorry to interrupt your, uh...well, uh, business or pleasure?" You gestured to the tub of slime poking out from where he leaned on the desk.

It stirred again, just a slight bubbling, but you noticed. It seemed to twitch when he did.

"Ah..." Egon was at a loss for words.

Something, oddly enough, drew you to take a few steps forward, into the room and toward the scientist and his experiment. The bubbling continued; Egon noticed, turned and jotted the reaction down.

"I just came for my book," you uttered, and he jumped two feet out of his skin when your voice came from right behind him. You hadn't even noticed your feet carry you there.

He whirled around again, and his eyes were wild, there was something there that wasn't fully Egon.

"Is that all?" He asked, his voice lowered somewhat, already deep enough naturally the extra bass was almost enticing.

The slime in the jar bubbled again, a bit more aggressive this time, nearing the three-quarter mark of the wide, long beaker it had been placed in, threatening to pour over.

"Doesn't the slime react to strong feelings?" You inquired, ignoring his question, leaning on the desk to take a closer look at the bright pink ooze.

As something of a scientist yourself, you didn't seem bothered or disgusted like any other person would. Even the guys probably wouldn't have been so calm. Truth be told you were freaking out internally, this was not a situation you ever expected to find yourself in with the brainiac you'd had the hots for since your college days. You dipped your finger in the ooze curiously. It was warm in the way that chemicals heated when they reacted, but not hot, and had no notable smell. It bubbled again, trying to build back up from where you'd popped it back down into the beaker.

"It wasn't reacting like that until you intervened," he told you suddenly, gently but firmly grabbing your now contaminated hand, holding it tight at the wrist to inspect it closely.

"That so?" Your heart began to pound at the implications, and you heard a blorp from behind you as if to confirm the tension; if you weren't living this out moment by moment, you'd find it funny, but you could have choked on your heartbeat right then.

"Yes. I've been running...trials...with the slime to see which emotions it reacts to more potently. Hate, of course, has been the strongest, but it's reacted well to good feelings too, and..." He was having an immense amount of trouble stringing sentences together, it seemed, and every time he looked at your hand and then at you, the slime borbled behind you, almost threateningly.

"And it only started showing response to your experiments with the emotion of lust when a secondary subject entered the room? Maybe due to the sensational thrill of being caught doing what you were?"

He balked slightly, and steadied himself on the desk, still clutching your wrist. The slime grew hotter on your fingers and the remainder in the jar began to sway for a moment.

"Variably," he grunted, getting a little closer, "but I suspect the responses would have been different if it were...anyone but...you."

"And why is that, Dr. Spengler?"

The slime spilled out of the tube and down the sides of the beaker. Egon's lips crashed upon yours, almost not of his own volition...almost. His hand never left your wrist but the free one found your hip, squeezing his fingers into your flesh from over your sweater.

"You don't have to play a fool," he growled when you separated, only due to a screaming need for oxygen; the slime was rolling now, doubling in volume, making a mess; "you know every single one of us has wanted you since you showed up, that's why you're constantly teasing us, knowing we respect you too much to try anything like this."

"All of you? Really? You think I'm teasing you?" You repeated, incredulous, "Dr. Spengler, I don't know what you mean—"

He kissed you forcefully again, hand coming up to cup your face now; he seemed to grow gentle and the slime continued to roil steadily behind you, like a boiling pot.

"You may not, but...believe me. I speak only for myself now...I am not normally a man of...physical desire...but you...I just can't resist..."

He seemed to be fighting whatever was clouding his judgment. Your mind had started to grow foggy too. It was like being high, the cloudiness and the floating feeling, but there was something else. Suddenly you began to understand the urgency in him as it bloomed inside your gut. The feelings of attraction he spoke of had already been present for ages, in both of you it turns out, but the slime rocketed them almost out of proportion. It was practically comical how badly you ached for Egon Spengler right then. Speaking of rockets, Egon was close enough now that you felt his stiffness brush against your leg as he looked at you, held you close.

"Would you like a volunteer?" You breathed suddenly, looking up into his clouded brown eyes, which widened for a brief moment.

"For what?" He urged, curiosity briefly winning out over lust.

Your hand found his hard cock and stroked it over his lab coat. He leaned into your touch desperately.

"Whatever you want, Dr. Spengler, I'm yours," you grinned at him; no more words escaped either of you.

Neither of you paid any mind to the jiggling overexcited slime as you were hoisted into the overflowing puddle at the edge of the desk. The skirt you were wearing got shoved up around your hips and your panties were swiftly ripped away, quite literally; you felt the fabric tear and watched Egon fling the black cotton aside. He spread your legs and, without warning, stuffed his face between them. His tongue was swift and nimble, sliding through your wet slit, and when he tasted you he growled a primal growl, digging his fingers into your exposed hips as he ate you out like you were to be his last meal.

"Egon!" You gasped, surprised at the immediate attack, but quickly melting under his talented lips.

He toyed with your clit and sucked at it, licked it, stuck a few slime-coated fingers inside your already-wet pussy, not waiting to let you adjust. You stifled a moan by biting your lip hard.

"That's it," he grunted, "be good for me, darling."

The whole thing felt desperate and primal, like the world was going to end if this didn't happen, or was already ending and this was your last hurrah. Either way he was certainly not holding anything back. There was slime on those fingers and now, that hot thick ooze was inside you, sticking to your walls, and whatever affect it had before from atmospheric exposure became amplified to an extreme. You became voracious. You ground your hips against his face, pulled his hair, swore at him; he only growled in response, sending vibrations through your core, making you cry out all the louder. The slime had hit the floor now as it grew, dripping steadily, adding a lewd noise to the background. Neither of you noticed.

The first time you came that night was on his tongue and fingers. He worked your pussy until he felt you convulse around his digits. It was only then he paused to let you get a breath, staring up at you behind fogged lenses with an evil grin on his glistening face. He rose to his full height and positioned himself before you, still between your hips. You didn't get any more time to recuperate.

"You're gonna have trouble walking in the morning, I feel you should know," he grunted, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance until you squirmed, and without another moment's hesitation he shoved his whole slime-coated length into you, hard and fast.

The wind was knocked out of you by this. He was huge, thick, and hard as diamond, and gave you no chance to adjust to his bottomed out thick cock before he was pounding into you, rocking the desk at a dangerous pace. That same thick ooze coated your insides now, you could feel it like lava in the most incredible way, and it seemed to ease the pain you felt only slightly; his pace got harder and faster and his fingertips dug hard into the soft flesh of your waist, leaving marks.

"Egon!" You cried out again; it was the only thing you could manage out.

"You look so pretty like this, Y/N, for me," he growled back.

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as he had his way with you. In just minutes you both hit orgasm, almost simultaneous; he didn't lie. He kept pumping as hard as ever as his hot cum spilled inside you, filling you up. You were unsure if it was because of the slime, due to past recollections not seeming to measure up, but every hot spurt that hit your walls felt like another orgasm in and of itself. You actually felt it hit your walls. That didn't happen in normal instances. Ejaculate just wasn't naturally warm enough or expelled at a high enough velocity to feel there, but this was different. It was probably the slime and its supernatural properties but you sure as fuck enjoyed the sensation of every twitch, every throb, feeling thoroughly bred despite the preventative pill you stayed on. Up till now, it was mainly just for acne control, but you thanked every god and sub-entity in the dimension that you kept up with that little pill.

You laid there, spent, as he caught his breath and adjusted his lenses, wiping the sweat off them.

"D-Dr. Spengler..." You breathed, looking up at him, and you caught his eyes.

The slime bubbled again.

"We're not done," he grunted simply.

Next thing you knew you were on the nearby couch, bent over the arm of the thing with your bare ass in the air. He gave your soft flesh a hard swift smacking, and you cried out at the combination of pain and pleasure. Using his own seed as lubricant now, Egon plunged into you again. He seemed to reach even deeper at this angle and his hands kept a steady grip on your hips. They'd be bruised in the morning. You'd have bigger problems, you're sure. None of it mattered then though; just there, you and him, the carnal lust between you. He pounded you like it was his life's purpose, holding you up when your legs gave out under another powerful orgasm; he pulled your hair for leverage as he followed suit and emptied into you again.

"Y/N," he groaned, "fuck!"

Whatever demon of lust had overcome him jumped into you when your name left his lips. It sounded so good when he said it, but when he said it like that, it was ethereal. When he pulled out, you managed to stand despite violently shaking legs, and grabbed him by his tie, pulling him down into an angry kiss. Tongue fought tongue, you could taste yourself on him. You pushed him down onto the couch cushions, soaked with your combined juices, and you ripped his pants fully off him. Left now in only his lab coat and sweater and tie, you climbed onto him again, sitting on his still-throbbing dick, taking every inch of him easily now. Even after the poundings you've taken he was still massive and stretched you; he looked up at you as you rose slowly, painfully slowly, and slammed back down all at once, knocking the precious air from him. It was your turn to have control. You rode him hard, hands on his chest, his fingers digging into your hips again, he bucked against you and toyed with your clit until you were crying out again, cumming for you don't know how many times then, you'd lost count.

The night carried on like this. Hours passed in carnal sin. He took you against the wall, on the floor, the couch, the desk, any surface he could manage, until the two of you were beyond spent. No human should have been able to produce that much semen, nor handle that much friction on such sensitive areas, but there you were, soaked at the end of the night, inside and out. Spatters of cum meshed with the pink slime on your skin. You were covered in both.

"Y/N, I'm...sorry," Egon whispered to you, holding you naked in his lap as you both fought to maintain consciousness; he was using his pants to try and towel you off gently.

"For what?" You grumbled back, toying with his hair aimlessly as you came down from the slime induced stupor.

"I shouldn't have exposed you to this batch of slime. Results aren't worth ruining our relationship for..."

You gulped. Don't tell me he just spent the last eight hours potentially impregnating you twenty times over only for it all to have been a side effect of The Goo.

"What do you mean, Dr. Spengler?"

"See, that," he looked away; "we've kept it so professional for so long. There were better ways for me to tell you how I feel, without psychomagnetheric ooze. Normal men would have asked you the right way. Flowers, dinner, that kind of thing."

You laughed and he blushed deeply.

"I fail to find the humor in this, Y/N," he frowned.

You kissed him. It was the gentlest of the night by a long stretch, but with the way the then-dormant slime bubbled again, the way he tensed under you and kissed you back, it was the nicest.

"I thought you just wanted to stay colleagues," you uttered, relieved immensely.

"No. You are a fantastic colleague, but...I'd like to be more. If you would too. Much more."

"I'd be happy to be more than just colleagues with you...Egon."

He grinned and bit his lip. He placed a kiss on your lips, gentle and delighted.

"May I call you my girlfriend?"

"You may," you giggled.

It wasn't long after that you fell asleep, both by then naked as the day you were born, wrapped in a thin sheet, surrounded by the messes you'd made and absolutely exhausted. The sun was just beginning to rise on New York City. Birds chirped, people swore at one another on the streets. You were where you were meant to be: with him.

God help whichever of the guys found you like that in a few hours when they came back to work.

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A/N: Here it is! Like I said, it's not the most original concept, but I wanted to take a shot at it. Hope y'all like it! Requests are open~

#ghostbusters smut #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters #ghostbusters ii #ghostbusters 2 #egon #egon x reader #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #egon spengler x reader smut #egon x the goo #the goo x reader #canon x reader #canon x oc #smut #do u think the goo was used for gozerian mating rituals and shit? that would b wild #canon x reader smut #also idk how to use a read more function on mobile so if this posts as the full post without a page break im so sorry

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